Page 4 of Pay the Piper

Fuck. A glance at the clock shows it’s well into the early morning. I really thought I was going to avoid an assault tonight.

“Coming, dear!”

I wrap myself up in a robe and quickly make my way down to the kitchen, where Conor is propped against the island with a mess of papers laid out before him.

“God, Niamh, what the fuck took so long?” He looks up at me with bloodshot eyes full of disdain, but without the usual crazed lust that follows a gala night.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Never mind. I have a job for you. Come sit, hurry. We have less than twenty-four hours to pull this off.”

I do as he asks and sit on a barstool across from him. I know better than to ask what he wants.

“Do you see all of this?” He slides the papers toward me, but doesn’t wait for me to read any of them. “These are documents confirming your new identity in America. You’ll be going undercover in a town called Thunder Bay. You see, there’s a bad family there. Their name is Santori. They had a hand in the murders recently that are fucking up my place in the polls. You’re going to go down there and get in good with them, then wait for my command on how to proceed.”

“Um…okay…”

“Don’t ‘um, okay’ me. You don’t have a goddamn choice, bitch. Your flight leaves tomorrow evening, and we have to give you a makeover. You’ll go by a new name and have a brand-new identity, so nobody can link you to me. I figured you could revert to your natural hairstyle. Those hideous red curls are as stark a difference from your blonde look as anything. And as for your name, you’ll go by Abby Reid—”

“Abby? You always hated that.”

Conor scratches his neck and rolls his eyes. “You’re right. I never understood why your family called you by a stupid nickname of your middle name. Niamh is a perfectly acceptable Irish name. Why they wouldn’t use it I’ll never understand. But I figured you’d have less of a chance of blowing your cover if you didn’t have to think too hard about what your new name was. The rest of the information will be in a folio for you to study, along with the information on each member of the Santori family. I expect you to know that shit like the back of your hand by the time you land in Thunder Bay.”

“Yes, sir…”

“Go ahead.” He sighs. “I’m sure you have questions for me…” he says before mumbling “you stupid cunt” under his breath.

“Well, really only one. How exactly am I supposed to get in with the Santori family?”

Conor raises a brow and smiles. “You’re going to seduce one of the brothers. I don’t give a damn which. Hell, fuck them both for all I care. Their information is in the folio.”

He pauses and rounds the island, grabbing and inspecting a strand of my hair. “It really is a shame you can’t go looking like this. You were almost too ugly to stomach before I made your improvements. You’d have a better chance if you could go there as you are now. But regardless, Niamh, success is your only option.” He drops my hair and makes his way out of the room, calling out as he leaves. “If you manage to get them to look past your appearance, you should win them over on your knees. You always were the most incredible cock sucker.”

His footsteps grow quieter as he makes his way to his office, and the moment the door closes, I allow myself to breathe. I was trying my best to pay attention to him, but it’s difficult when I have so much adrenaline flowing through me. Looking down at the papers, I speed read through the assignment he just spelled out, but all I can focus on is one detail in particular.

In less than twenty-four hours, I’ll be on a flight out of here. And for the first time in my marriage, I’ll be free.

Chapter 3

Fweeeet! The shrill sound of Coach’s whistle is music to my ears. Trained to withstand torture, and I just spent the last hour being bullied while wobbling around like a newborn giraffe.

“Alright, boys, hit the showers. Mavrin, Taranov…get your asses over here!”

I try, but the best I can do is crawl the ten feet to Coach, collapsing onto the ice with a wheeze once I reach him. Fuck me. I’m in shape. I’m in damn good shape, running circles around the younger men who train up through the ranks. Clearly, I’m getting a cold. Maybe two viruses at once. That’s the only reason I feel like I’ve been hit by a garbage truck while Teddy fucking Taranov grins down at me lying sprawled on my back.

“Need a hand?” He heaves me up and holds me steady with an arm around my waist as Coach watches in disgust, and I remember a time when I was holding him after a particularly brutal training day. I’m meant to be a holder, not a holdee.

“So here’s the deal, Mavrin. I know why it’s important that you travel with the team and keep one hand on Prescott’s ass at all times, but I don’t understand why you need to be on the ice for warm-ups. None of this is going to work if you can’t skate. Surely you can keep a good eye on him from the bench?”

I’m not really sure how to explain the lengths Mila’s willing to go to for Thatcher’s safety, but luckily Teddy chimes in with about as good of an explanation as Coach is ever going to get.

“You ever seen Kill Bill, Coach?” Teddy asks.

Coach, who is looking more annoyed at the length of time this conversation is taking by the second, nods.

“Well, Thatcher’s woman is like The Bride.”

“Oh.”